


Supercat - Prompt Book Challenge Collection (Various one-shots)

by fourtseven



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, One Shot Collection, random scenarios, supercat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 21:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13667421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourtseven/pseuds/fourtseven
Summary: A collection of supercat one-shot prompt challenges I've done from a book of writing prompts. Each challenge has a prompt and ten words I have to fit into the story. All are with Cat and Kara. As I complete more, they'll be posted here.





	1. A Strange Request at a Piano Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Vocab for this story: carnival sprained mask oxidation awkward apple juvenile controversy twirl sassafras
> 
> Find me on tumblr: http://fourtseven.tumblr.com/

‘Masquerade Night’ started as just another ordinary night for Cat at _Sassafras_ , her piano bar on National City’s trendy, up-and-coming Westside. Masked bartenders flirted. Equally-masked patrons mingled over drinks. A few danced. And Cat, doubling as owner of the bar and resident pianist, sat at her piano, entertaining them all.

A line of untouched drinks from unsolicited admirers wasted away in their usual spot on her Grotrian-Steinweg. She left them there as a warning to the men with more balls and sense of entitlement than brains, but men were both imbecilic and persistent.

They were also terrible judges of character. As if she was the type who preferred sangria, Blue Hawaiians, or God forbid, blueberry spritzers in something prosaic as a mason jar. Cat scoffed. The very thought. She would have to talk to James about those damn mason jars.

Worse than that, however, were the men who believed themselves clever and suave, and brought her a ‘Slippery Nipple’, ‘Leg Spreader’, or ‘Creamy Pussy’ as though she would hike up her dress right there as proof of their perceived prowess. No, she let those drinks fester, untouched along with the others for hours on end.

Cat looked at the growing collection. Even the apple in her Appletini had long since oxidized and turned brown. They served as a sign only the stupid ignored. Unfortunately for her, there was plenty of stupid in her bar tonight.

Yes, it was just another ordinary night for Cat. Until… Until _she_ walked in. Or, perhaps, strutted was the more accurate term, because the woman owned each step she took. Who was she? A first-time customer, undoubtedly. Like the others, she wore a mask. Hers, however, was an elaborate Carnival mask, colored a beautiful ivory and inlaid with a gold swirl motif, but even with the mask obscuring half her face, Cat would have remembered if this woman had stepped foot in her bar before.

Cat’s hands continued their dance on the keys, playing music for the crowd, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the woman. Something indescribable drew her in. The navy cocktail dress that swished about her knees? The enticing hint of skin that played peekaboo through the lace? The muscular arms and legs, neither of which she hid? Cat didn’t know.

She tracked the woman and her companion — a date, perhaps — across the room as they weaved around other patrons. Her date followed like a puppy, two steps behind but eager to keep up. They sat at an intimate table-for-two, and judging by the woman’s glance at the table then around the room, it was perhaps a bit too intimate, but seating was limited.  

A server quickly descended upon them, spoke briefly, then hurried off toward the bar, returning with a beer and a highball cocktail.

Cat needed to look away, but her eyes refused to cooperate. Or, was it her mind? Why was she so fascinated?

The woman leaned in and spoke to her date, igniting an irrational jealousy at the thought that he, a boy who clearly thought the peak of high-fashion meant Chuck Taylors and untailored dress pants, was the recipient of this woman’s attention. He was unworthy.

Cat refused to analyze her juvenile thoughts. She should take a break. Abandon the rest of her set and ignore the woman. Leave her to her date. Hell, go beg James for a Blanton’s, neat, because clearly, this woman affected her more than Cat thought possible. Or prudent.

Yet, those were things she _should_ do. Instead, Cat took a deep breath, kept her eyes trained on the mysterious woman, skimmed her fingers over the keys, and prepared for a seduction.

As the first, sultry notes of her self-composed song _Controversy_ filled the air, idle conversation in the bar ceased. Cat felt the moment the audience’s attention shifted from their friends and lovers to her. It was a heady feeling, knowing she had wrested it away, and it added to the emerging, but still confusing, arousal that flowed through her.

The woman paused, drink halfway to her mouth, and looked at Cat. Even through the mask, she knew. She felt it — the woman’s gaze — as though it were a physical caress. It inched along Cat’s body, along her thighs bared by the slit of her dress, over her breasts, her lips, and left fire in its wake.

Everything else faded away. It was just Cat and the mystery woman, now. The rest were merely privileged bystanders to their show. Without looking away, the woman lifted her drink and drained it. Her tongue flicked to the corner of her mouth, presumably to catch any excess. _Why was that so sexy?_

Cat’s fingers trembled, her pinky slipped off the key, and the music faltered, sending a discordant sound reverberating throughout the bar. She never made mistakes, couldn’t recall the last time she did, but this woman had her twisted in knots, and she didn’t even know it. Cat bit her lip and played through the mistake. An answering smile played about the woman’s lips, and nearly caused her to fumble again.

Images flashed through Cat’s mind. A woman. A friend. A single night of passion. Her divine muse for the song. Written the day after, she hoped it reflected all the passion she had felt at the time. Each note told a story known only to her, and Cat fought to keep her eyes open as she played. They wanted to close and let the vivid images roll over her, but she kept them trained on the woman across the room.

She watched the man next to her lean close. Cat expected to feel another irrational burst of jealousy, irrational because this woman was a stranger and not beholden to any of Cat’s feelings anyway, but she felt only satisfaction as the woman ignored his attempts to garner her attention and focused on Cat.

Eventually, the song drew to a close. Excited chatter rippled through the crowd as the sensual tones faded. She wanted the moment to linger, to revel in the memories the song evoked and the exhilaration Cat felt, pinned by the mystery woman’s steady gaze. She was entering dangerous territory.

She began to conflate the two separate moments — her past and this woman — into one. Cat licked her lips and admitted she had entered dangerous territory. _Very dangerous territory_ , she berated herself, but it was too late. This woman heightened the natural passion past memories evoked.

The crowd’s applause broke through her haze. Cat nodded her thanks to the audience, and her hands moved on instinct, starting the next song. There would be no break.

She expected the woman — God, how she wished for her name — to turn back to her date. The song that captured everyone’s attention was over. But, to Cat’s surprise, her attention remained, even as her date drew her to the dance floor.

The attraction was there, between them, electric and alive. It sizzled in the air, and Cat was quite surprised no one else noticed. Although, perhaps, this woman’s date had noticed, and that was why he currently led, or attempted to lead, her around the small dance floor in an awkward display of proprietorship and dancing.

Cat rolled her eyes at his first attempt of a twirl, eliciting a laugh from the woman. Her date must have thought he was the source, because several slow turns followed the first, and through each turn, hers and Cat’s gazes remained locked. Their thread of attraction refused to be severed.

Playing another slow song, she imagined being the one that held her, of running her hands across that muscular back, of playing her body like her fingers played the piano, of kissing the neck she would _just_ be able to reach. Cat clenched her thighs and shifted on the bench. Her thoughts were too much.

Something must have shown in her eyes, or her body was betraying more signs than she thought, because the woman that had captivated her to such an alarming degree parted her lips. A gasp? Maybe. A libido-calming inhalation? Well... Cat smiled at that thought.

They danced song after song and the boy’s  hold never wavered. She refused to refer to him as anything but a boy. Soon, though, Cat watched the woman’s expression fade from happiness to annoyance. The mask hid nothing; her whole body expressed it. Cat was tempted to stop mid-song, so the woman could escape.

And, she did just that. Cat abruptly withdrew her hands. Some notes faded gently, while the dropped piano chord clanged. It was jarring, but effective, as the two sprang apart.

Cat should have felt guilty, at least the tiniest bit, for ruining the boy’s pitiful attempt at seduction, but felt nothing of the sort. The woman mouthed ‘thank you’ and Cat nodded in kind, but her insides were a jumbled mess. Attraction, arousal, arrogance, and many more words that started with ‘A’ competed for prominence.

She should stop hiding behind her piano and introduce herself. She should stop talking about things she should do, and actually do it, but the moment was lost when the woman walked over to the bar and spoke to the bartender.

 _It was fun while it lasted_ , Cat thought, ignoring her disappointment. She needed a drink. She stood to get one, but the sight of the woman returning from the bar, drink in hand, and walking towards her, sat Cat back down.

Her eyes narrowed, and her disappointment doubled, as she scrutinized the drink in her hand. Cat didn’t want to consider that this woman, who had held her attention all night, was just like the dozens of rejected men, most of whom still moped inside the bar.

Cat’s expression must have reflected her sudden, stormy mood because the woman stopped short. She hesitated as she glanced at the collection of neglected drinks that sat on her piano, then back at Cat.

“Looked like you could use a drink,” she said, holding out the old fashioned glass. “A bourbon. Neat.”

“Oh. Thank God.” Just the drink she needed. She reached out and took the proffered glass.

“Looks like you have quite the collection there. One admirer or many?”

Cat looked at the drinks and scoffed. “The drinks to men ratio is one to one, unfortunately.”

The bourbon went down smoothly with a hint of sweet and spice. Beautiful. Somehow, this woman knew exactly.

“I, uh, I admit I cheated a bit. I asked the guy at the bar — James, I think? — and he steered me onto the proper drink.”

James, huh? Cat glanced over to the bar where the man in question smirked and nodded to the woman, before giving a thumbs up. Figured. He must have noticed her attraction, acknowledged its complete and utter rarity, and wanted to help things along with a little drink matchmaking.

“No worries —”

The woman lifted her mask, revealing the most beautiful woman Cat had ever seen. “Kara.”

Finally. A name as beautiful as its owner. It suited her.

“Right. No worries, Kara.” She saluted with her glass. “This is exactly what I needed. And, if I must say, a hell out of a lot better than that lot,” she said, nodding toward the other drinks.

“Oh, better than a ‘Creamy Pussy’ then? Or, what is that one there?”

Cat looked to where she pointed. Ugh, the ‘Tight Snatch’. She saw Kara’s grin, and realized she was being teased. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Happy. Aroused. Flattered, mostly, that a woman as young and beautiful as Kara would see fit to flirt with her.

“So, do you take requests?”

“I do. I can play anything. Name it.” Cat sipped her drink, wondering what type of song this woman wanted to hear and if, despite her confident assurances, she could actually play it.

Kara inched closer.

“Can you play me?”

Dumbfounded, she completely unraveled at the sound of Kara’s low, husky voice. ‘Can you play me?’  _Damn right I can,_ she wanted to shout, but she choked on her bourbon instead. Usually, it was Cat with the lines, the pursuer. Being on the receiving end, from someone she was equally attracted to, was new. Novel.

Cat licked her lips, and allowed her gaze to traverse Kara’s body. She thought she detected a slight shiver. It was a strange request she desperately wanted to fulfill.

Coughing, she asked, “What about —?” and nodded to Kara’s date who glared back at them with a sour expression and a sprained heart.

“Just a friend.” Someone ought to remind him of the boundaries of friendship, because he looked like he passed that point fifty miles ago.

“In that case…” Cat sipped her drink, dragged her fingers over the piano keys like she wanted to do to Kara, and stood. “Let’s go.”


	2. A Family Mystery Uncovered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vocab: Sunday secret wallpaper swap sister curiosity island notebook marathon demand
> 
> find me on tumblr: http://fourtseven.tumblr.com/

Kara nudged a pile of plaster and broken wood laths with her foot, kicking up a plume of dust. This was not how she imagined her Sunday morning. Snuggling under the covers as the sun streamed in, breakfast in bed, and sex had all been on her list of favorable activities that morning. All were still unchecked.

Instead, she was standing in a room in the early stages of renovation, except there were very few signs of progress. Just destruction. Dust covered everything. The mantle, the plastic sheets that protected furniture — it was all coated in a thick layer. Ragged strips of wallpaper were scattered all over the floor and there was a massive hole in the wall.

She had a room full of rubble with no workers in sight, an angry wife pacing by the window, and an even angrier mother-in-law whose early-morning call had forced her and Cat out of bed much earlier than a strong cup of coffee compensated for.

Kara shook her head as she considered the mess. “I don’t know what she expects, Cat.”

“I’ll tell you what she expects.” Cat stopped pacing and faced her. “She expects to sip martinis on the beach in Marathon while she foists the responsibility onto us.”

“Did she say why the renovation stalled?”

Cat rolled her eyes. “Just that there was something in the wall. And it needed to be addressed before they continued.”

Something in the wall? Kara stepped closer and peered inside the hole. Dry, crumbling plaster oozed between the wood that still remained. The rest was on the floor. In the hole behind the broken laths, there was a small chest. It looked like a miniature leather travel trunk.

The leather was old and cracked, betraying its age, and the trunk was fastened with two bronze belt-like clasps. Kara wondered what was inside. What was so secret that it had to be hidden behind a wall?

“Is it a dead body?”

Cat’s voice in her ear startled her. Kara looked over her shoulder at her wife and laughed at her expectant expression. “Um, no. It’s a chest.”

“Figures. We let that insufferable woman push us out of bed with her ridiculous demands, and there’s not even a dead body.” Cat threw her hands in the air. “Except, this time, she’s delegating from an island nearly three-thousand miles away so she doesn’t get her hands dirty.”

“Relax.” Kara reached inside and picked up the chest. “We’ll peek inside the box then get out of here.”

The box felt fragile in her hands. The leather straps that helped form the closures were frayed, barely held together by the clasps, and if her hand hadn’t supported the bottom, she was sure it would have spilled its contents to the floor. Kara carried it to the couch.

Settling the box in her lap, she gingerly threaded the straps through their loops and eased the lid open. She expected to find trinkets, jewelry, or some sort of keepsakes, but aside from a few old photographs, there was only a thread-bound journal.

“Well? What’s inside?”

A few pictures. A notebook. Kara shrugged. “Not much.”

Kara felt Cat settle on the couch next to her and watched her peer inside. She bit her lip to keep from smiling. Cat pretended indifference. She may have been annoyed at her mother’s machinations that had led them there, but Kara knew better. Her journalistic instincts and curiosity had been aroused by their discovery, and Cat had lost the battle against them.

They flipped through the photos that looked to be from the 1930s or 40s. Each one showed some variation of the same four people — a man, two women, and a small child. In one, the two women cuddled the baby between them, laughing and smiling, as they picnicked on a lawn. In another, the man and one of the women posed together in front of a vintage car, although, Kara thought, it must have been new at the time. In a third, the two women were alone, grinning from a porch swing as they gazed into the other’s eyes. None pictured all four together.

Cat took one of the photos and examined it closely. In it, the same two women each held a hand of a young girl as they swung her between them. The joy on all three faces remained unclouded even through the grain and blur of the old photograph.

Her voice was barely audible, just above a whisper when she spoke, and Kara leaned closer to hear. “I — I don’t even recognize them.”

“Oh.”

“You misunderstand. I know them but I don’t recognize them.” Cat pointed to the blonde woman, and reverence tinged her next words. “My grandmother, Evelyn. She was always so beautiful, graceful, and poised, but she was quite… ill-humored, snapping at the slightest infraction. The child is my mother. I don’t recall either of them ever smiling, or expressing a genuine emotion apart from anger. You know my mother. Growing up, I thought the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. An irascible woman begot an irascible woman who begot…” Cat sighed.

“An amazing woman.”

Kara rubbed her wife’s thigh, hoping it lent some comfort. She hated when Cat, or anyone, drew comparisons between her and Katherine. If they took the time to look past the prickly exterior, they’d know just as well as Kara that Cat Grant was a woman worth knowing, worth loving.

“I just can’t fathom what happened. They went from palpable joy to… Well.” Cat handed the picture back. “As for the brunette, I truly don’t know her. Evelyn’s sister, perhaps? Although, if so, I certainly never met her.”

Kara studied the two women. They didn’t look much like sisters. There was very little resemblance between them beyond their relative heights and similar hairstyles, and the way they looked at each other was not very sisterly. Kara recognized it, though. It was the same one present in every shot of her and Cat, taken in the moments when they’d been lost to the world, so wrapped up in each other. It was soft. Familiar. They definitely weren’t sisters, but a family all the same.

“They were in love. Or had been,” she said, letting her head roll back against the couch. Why did that thought make her so sad? Kara slid a glance over at Cat who studied her with a sad smile. “Did Evelyn ever talk about her?”

“No. Not to me, at least. Neither did Mother.”

“Something must have happened,” Kara said before she set the photos aside and swapped them for the journal. If there were answers, they would be in there. Its cover felt soft beneath her fingertips as she traced them over the name etched into it, but the book had fared no better over the years than the chest as its binding was frayed and peeling, nearly disintegrating under her gentle touch.

“Go ahead. Open it.”

“No, no. You do the honors.” Kara tried to pass the book off, but Cat just shook her head. “It’s your family,” she reasoned.

Reaching over, Cat threaded their fingers together, and snuggled into Kara’s side. “We’ll read it together.”

Opening the journal, Kara saw Evelyn’s name elegantly inscribed on the interior side of the front cover with a brief note. _To Evelyn and our beautiful beginning. All my love, Leland._

The first entry was dated April 27, 1943. Placing a kiss on Cat’s forehead, Kara read aloud, “ _Today has been a dreadful day. Leland shipped out yesterday, and this morning I awoke reaching for his warmth. It was not there. Instead, the unsettling chill of loneliness greeted me and I wept. Before he left, he assured me he will return home soon. Until then, I must brave the cold._ ”

She felt Cat’s body stiffen. “Mother would have been a year old then. Leland must have been her father. My grandfather.” Her brow furrowed. “I never met him and Evelyn never spoke of him.”

“Leland must be the man in the photographs, then.” Kara flipped to the second entry. This one, dated three months later, was even shorter than the previous, and its words leapt off the page with agonizing clarity. _Leland is gone._

The next few pages were blank. Kara was shocked, not only by Leland’s death but with the extent, or lack thereof, of the journal entries. She didn’t want to be rude, but that wasn’t it, was it? Surely there were more. Evelyn must have been heartbroken after losing Leland, as anyone would be, and stopped writing.

“That’s it?” Cat asked, reading her mind. She sat up and threw a look her way. “She wouldn’t have secreted away this journal with a handful of photographs for just two entries.”

“I agree.” Kara riffled through the rest of the diary, careful to not dislodge the fragile pages. A third of the way through, the writing resumed. “Here. July 16, 1944.”

_It has been a year since I have last written. Forgive me, but in that time, it feels I have lived both a thousand years and not at all. How is that possible? I have no clear recollection, yet I feel the bone-deep weariness that has settled in. Its weight is heavy. It is hard to bear._

_Like the pages between this entry and the last, my life has been empty and blank, and I could not bear to place this letter next to the last as if the past year of my life could be skipped over with the turn of a page. I have half-lived, I have suffered, and I have grieved in the midst of those blank pages._

_But, it has started to lift and I must fill the emptiness once more. A smile from a new friend shifted the burden just enough that I have breathed for the first time in ages._

_It is time to live again._

The entries continued.

_July 22, 1944_

_Her name is Hélène. I will not plod along in the mire of too many details, but we met by chance in the park and have spent nearly every waking moment together since. Katherine is smitten and I cannot blame her, for I must confess that I am smitten as well._

 

_August 18, 1944_

_A year ago, I could not have fathomed ever feeling this way again. Not after Leland. My stomach flutters and my heart quickens when I see her. Is it too whirlwind to be love? Does she feel the same? I cannot be sure on either count._

_I just know how I feel when I am in her presence. It is beyond euphoric._

_However, I feel these emotions are shameful, or should be, but how can I be ashamed of love?_

_Mother is worried. Father is angry. They suspect something._

 

_September 25, 1944_

_Hélène, Katherine, and I picnicked on the park lawn today enjoying the lingering vestiges of summer. She took my hand as we sunned on the blanket and Katherine napped between us. I held on as if my life would end if I let go._

_Did I imagine she held on with the same desperation?_

 

_October 5, 1944_

_I have never felt so out of sorts as I did in the moments after Hélène kissed me. My lips still feel as though they are on fire. I keep touching them and wondering if it was merely a dream._

_Will she kiss me again? I hope so. If not, I shall endeavor to be courageous and feel those lips again._

 

_October 29, 1944_

_I fear it is unnatural. Not my love for her, or the fact our love exists, but the strength of it. It frightens me, sometimes, and if I dwell on it for too long, dread supersedes all other thoughts._

_How can such abundant happiness last? I am well-versed in heartbreak, and I tremble in fear of its return._

_These thoughts overwhelm me but then Hélène will roll over and reach for me in the night, calming their turbulence._

The diary entries spanned years, and for more than hour, Kara read each one aloud.

* * *

 

Unable to sit any longer, Cat pushed herself out of Kara’s arms and walked to the fireplace. Small, expensive knicknacks lined the mantle. Cat touched each one, but didn’t really see them. Her mind was on Hélène, the woman from the photographs, and the entries. God, what a revelation they were.

Most were only a few sentences in length, but each held a depth of feelings Cat was unprepared for.  After all, it was all news to her. Until today, she would have said her grandmother had married a kindly man named George, given birth to Katherine, and went on with her life, however unhappy that may have been. She had no idea about Hélène, or Leland, for that matter.

Kara was right. The two women had been in love, but Cat knew it hadn’t lasted. She felt that certainty deep in her bones. Eventually, these romantic diary entries would dwindle until they stopped completely, and Evelyn would turn into the miserable woman that Cat had known.

She picked up one of the blown-glass baubles from the mantle. Had Hélène left? Had a rift formed between the two women, causing them to say ‘to hell with it’ and cut their losses?

“Amazing. Do you think your mother knew?”

Kara’s voice startled her out of her musings. Replacing the figurine, she crossed her arms, trapping her idle hands, and turned to her wife. “Knew what, dear?”

“The nature of Evelyn and Hélène’s relationship.”

Many of the diary entries centered around Cat’s mother. They had loved Katherine, a fact that had shown through the writing quite clearly, and her grandmother’s ramblings had given Cat insight into the woman that could have been. It was hard to swallow.

“I doubt it. Mother was just a child. She knew that the three of them were a family, and I imagine that’s all that mattered to her.” For years, they had been a family but what happened? Clearing her throat, she strode back to the couch and perched herself on the edge. “Skip to the last entry. Please.”

“But —” Kara looked at her and Cat could see the wheels turning inside her head. “Yeah, sure. But why?”

Cat covered Kara’s hand with her own. A feeling of dread had settled in her stomach, churning it. Evelyn and Hélène’s story didn’t have a happy ending, and Cat needed to know why. “Just —” she sighed. “Please.”

Nodding, Kara thumbed through the pages to the back of the journal. Cat watched entry after entry flit by, page after page. Finally, they stopped turning. The last note was dated May of 1951. Mother would have been nine.

Afraid her eyes would read the words before Kara could speak them, Cat closed them and waited.

She heard Kara clear her throat then speak. _“I paced all day. Worry dogging my every step, nipping at my heels, begging for its presence to be acknowledged. As if I would open my arms to that traitorous dog and welcome it into my home. If I knew what stark anguish awaited me today, I would have wished never to wake._

_“Hélène, out of bed before the sun rose, did not come home today.”_

Cat scrubbed her face with her hands, and Kara stopped reading. She needed a drink. Dread mounted. Her voice hitched, but she implored Kara to finish. “Keep going.”

_“Katherine is inconsolable but Mother is with her. I shunted her away because her heartbreak compounds my own and I cannot bear…_

_“A body, Father said. Down by the river. Hélène’s, he feared. No! I do not, cannot, believe it! Once proved to be cruel enough, but twice?_

_“She will come home. Tonight or tomorrow. Or the next._

_“To the house I was to share with Leland. To the house I began to share with Hélène. To the house we filled with love. To the house that echoes naught but pain. God, how I hate this house.”_

For several minutes, neither of them spoke, letting the weight of the words hang between them. Finally, Kara closed the diary, placed it back in its chest, and wrapped her in a hug. “Oh, Cat. I’m so sorry.”

“It happened over sixty years ago. Why am I so…” Cat rolled her hand, but couldn’t find the words.

“Heartbroken?”

Cat nodded.

Kara pulled back, but kept hold of her shoulders, caressing them and infusing her with warmth. “I cried at the end of _Bridge to Terabithia_ , and that’s just fiction. Cat, this is your family. It’s real.”

Leaning in, she pressed her lips to Kara’s before resting their foreheads together. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you like Evelyn lost Hélène. Would I end up the same way? A bitter, old woman who shuts out everyone, even her own children?” Cat scoffed, and stood. “Who am I trying to delude? I was already halfway there before you bumbled into my life.”

Disgusted, she began to walk away, but Kara snagged her hand and gently tugged her to a stop. “No. First, you’ll never lose me. I won’t let that happen. Second, you never shut Carter out before I came along and you wouldn’t start even if the worst happened tomorrow. With Adam, you did what you thought best at the time. For him and you, both. Now, you’re mending that relationship, and you started before we got together.”

Cat let herself be drawn into Kara’s lap. The compassion held within the arms wrapped snugly around her waist calmed her turbulent thoughts, just as Hélène’s touch soothed Evelyn. Propping her head against Kara’s, Cat studied the room around them. Like the room, the story remained unfinished, messy, with bits and pieces that still needed to be reconstructed. Resolute, she made a decision.

“Let’s find her,” she whispered. She felt Kara’s arms loosen, and looked down at her. “Hélène. Let’s find out what really happened.”

“Cat, sweetheart, we already know. She died.”

“No, no. I know but we don’t know how or why. I know there’s more to it.”

Kara studied her for a moment, and whatever she saw must have made her acquiesce because she bowed her head. “If you’re sure.”

Hopping up, Cat gathered the scattered pictures and collected the chest. She would need both the photographs and the journal. She wanted to get back home as quickly as possible, to be surrounded by familiar trappings, and start compiling all the information they had about Hélène. Soon, she would have her answers and a clearer, more complete, picture of the whole story. Cat could feel it.

“I’m sure,” she said, as Kara followed her to the door. “Oh, and call the workers to come finish the damn renovation, or whatever the hell Mother is having done. I certainly don’t want to deal with her wrath when she gets back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr: http://fourtseven.tumblr.com/


	3. Drama In and Out of the Lab

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vocab: Microbiologist telephone hidden bystander trench inside international shoe heights persuade
> 
> find me on tumblr: http://fourtseven.tumblr.com/

Kara eased the door to Lab Room B205 open, praying the ancient hinges didn’t betray her presence with a torturous groan like most doors of the aging University, and peeked inside. Students were crammed into the lab room like sardines in a smelly, packed tin. They looked bored. Their heads were propped up by their arms and they dipped and bobbed as they fought sleep.

Damn. The lecture must have started already. She hoped to sneak in unnoticed and looked for a place to sit in the crowded room. There was an unoccupied seat a few feet from the door next to a guy who had discarded his shoes, curled his bare toes around the lower rung of his stool, and stuffed his greasy hair under a knit cap. Kara grimaced. There was second empty stool further into the lab, near the middle of the room, but to get to it, she would have to navigate a gauntlet of backpacks and outstretched legs.

Knowing the commotion that would stir up, she accepted her fate and slipped into the lab to claim the seat next to the shoeless boy-wonder. She slid her bag underneath her stool, set a pen and notebook on the workstation, and wondered why she had agreed to her sister’s hare-brained scheme for Kara to attend her first week’s classes on her behalf. Instead of easing into her own courses this semester, Kara found herself double-booked with Alex’s courses, too. Thinking back on her week, she couldn’t be sure which classes were her own, anymore. They had all jumbled into a blur at this point, and all because Alex wanted an extra week spent under the sun at the beach without forfeiting her spot to another student on the classes’ waitlist.

Kara uncapped her pen and prepared to take notes. If Alex wanted to skip class, she would have to drudge through Kara’s notes which were nothing more than advanced scientific information filtered through an unscientific brain and regurgitated as gibberish. She looked forward to seeing Alex’s face when she tried to decipher them.

Looking to the front of the room, Kara listened as a bespectacled old man decked out in a too-large labcoat and khakis belted above his ample waist addressed the class. The man took the word ‘ancient’ to new heights. She watched the man’s wrinkly jowls, which rivaled a bulldog’s, wobble each time he opened his mouth. Spittle flew from his lips with every word. Kara suffered a sudden pang of sympathy for Alex and the students in the front row who would have to endure an entire semester of the old man’s watery bombardment.

“Ah — yes. Well, that will be all. If you have any questions or concerns, my office telephone number is listed in the University’s directory. I will now turn you over to the Science Department’s newest faculty member, Dr. Catherine Grant. Her work, including a recent paper on microbes found in the depths of the Mariana Trench —” He paused, cheeks jiggling with excitement, and seemed to wait for the students to react. Only a smattering of half-hearted applause rolled through the room. The man cleared his throat. “As I was saying, her work has been published in journals worldwide, including the International Journal of Biological Sciences. Once again, Dr. Catherine Grant.”

“Thank you, Dean Oldredge.”

A woman, previously hidden from Kara's view by a row of laboratory workstations, shook the dean’s hand and with it, all of her preconceived notions about scientists as graying, old men who never adventured beyond the stodgy, both in appearance and personality. Dr. Grant transformed the classic, and often monotonous, combination of a blue Oxford and khakis into a heart-stopping revelation of fashion. Everything about her — from the way she loomed over the desk at the front of the room, framed by microscopes and flasks of varying sizes, to the way she scrutinized the room but never paused too long on any one thing — exuded competence and intelligence.

Kara watched Dr. Grant pull a stack of stapled papers from an expensive-looking handbag, straighten them by tapping the stack against the desk with three sharp cracks, and arrange them in a neat stack. She adjusted the stack’s edges twice before she pulled another, single sheet from the bag and surveyed the class.

“When I call your name, state your presence. The sooner I put faces to names, the happier we will all be. Jeffrey Allen...”

A student by the window raised his hand and called out his presence, but Kara ignored him and stooped low over the table, cradling her head in her hands and shielding her face from the professor. She hadn’t expected a verbal roll call. Signing her sister’s name on an attendance roster passed around the room had been the extent of her deceit in the other classes. Somehow, lying to Dr. Grant felt worse, but she couldn’t pinpoint why.

“Kendra Bingham.”

With each name called, Kara slumped lower on her stool and quietly tapped her pen against her notebook in a nervous rhythm. Next to her, Boy-Wonder shifted in his seat, moving the slightest bit closer. Edging away, she slid a glance over and found him staring pointedly at her pen beating its erratic pattern. His brows furled low over his eyes and his mouth twisted as if disgusted. Kara wanted to return his gesture and stare just as deliberately at his feet, still bare and still curled around his stool, because if anyone had a right to be disgusted, it was her, the girl seated on the other side of him, and anyone else in their vicinity, but she restrained herself. She looked away, wanting only to get through the next ninety minutes without incident, so she clenched her jaw and forced her hand to stop its tapping.

“Alexandra Danvers.”

Without lifting her head, Kara remained hunched forward and raised her hand, offering a meek, “Here.” Hushed murmurs spread through the room, and although she couldn’t make out the words, Kara knew they were discussing her. The noise grew as the whispers increased, and she was sure someone would blow her cover — or Alex’s cover — inadvertently or not.

“Quiet.” The whispers stopped as soon as Dr. Grant hissed her command, and Kara breathed a sigh of relief, thankful no one had blurted the truth loud enough for the professor to hear. “Eyes up.”

Whispering a small prayer, Kara steadied herself and removed the hand that shielded her face. Uncurling herself, she sat up. Dr. Grant’s steady gaze captured hers and held it. Suddenly, Kara was delighted that she had agreed to Alex’s dumb plan, that she was in this exact place at this exact time with this exact person. She shivered under the scrutiny and her body prickled with pleasure. She noted how Dr. Grant’s eyes tracked over her face, flitting from feature to feature, until Kara was sure her face had been thoroughly studied and memorized. It was unnerving, being pinned by such an intense gaze. Kara wanted to smile, to soften some of Dr. Grant’s intensity, but her lips were numb and completely disconnected from her brain, and they only managed a pathetic twitch.

“Um. Here,” she repeated, surprised that her mouth managed to form words, although they were nothing more than a croak. Dr. Grant nodded and called out the next name, turning her eyes away and releasing Kara from the mysterious hold that had trapped her. Kara regretted the loss.

Eventually, the long list of names dwindled and the lecture began. Lengthy, complicated words that were hard to pronounce, let alone spell, swirled around Kara in a whirlwind of scientific jargon. In one ear, out the other. Soon, scribbles taking the shape of Dr. Grant replaced her miserable excuse for note-taking, spilling from the margins into the center of the page until it all looked less like a notebook and more like a sketchbook.

Several times, she glanced up and caught Dr. Grant’s gaze focused on her before it flicked away. Kara found it hard to sit still. Each time the professor’s eyes fell on her, her body vibrated with restless energy. She jiggled her leg against the stool as her pen scratched across the paper and she continued her impromptu figure study. The curves and contours of Dr. Grant’s body, visible even underneath the lab coat, had Kara wishing for inappropriate things like an in-depth anatomy study.

“You’re not Alex.”

The hushed voice startled her, causing her hand to jolt and gash her latest rendering of Dr. Grant’s face with a sharp, blue stroke. Kara whipped her head to the right. Shoeless Joe Jackson glared back at her, face contorted with animosity.

“What are you talking about?”

Flapping his hands in her face, he repeated, “I said, ‘You’re not Alex.’”

Kara recoiled as annoyance flared within her, but she ignored him and buried her nose back in her notebook. The seat in the middle of the room looked more and more appealing by the second. She saw Dr. Grant glance their way a few times, and wondered how they must have looked.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he hissed. He leaned closer and Kara gagged as his hot breath fanned across her face.

What was this guy’s problem? She slapped her pen onto the table and jammed her finger in Boy-Wonder’s face, not even trying to keep her voice down. “And — and you should uh—” She glanced down at his feet.  “Put your shoes on! Your feet reek, but you don’t see me complaining.” Two girls nearby giggled. Kara clapped her hand over her mouth.  _ No, no regrets,  _ she thought. She calmly removed her hand and placed it in her her lap, curling her fingers to hide their tremble.

“Enough!” Dr. Grant slammed a thick packet of papers onto the desk, rattling it. Even her lab coat billowed out behind her with the violence of the impact, and every student shrank back. She pinned them both with a glare. “I am limited to ninety minutes a week to impart as much knowledge as I can — ten of which have already been wasted at the start. You two are further wasting my time. Would either of you like to share what is so important that you have deemed it necessary to discuss it during my lecture? David? Alexandra?”

Kara cowered under the force of Dr. Grant’s anger and scrambled for something to say — anything to absolve herself. Her gut twisted at the thought of this woman regarding her as a nuisance, or worse. She opened her mouth to beg forgiveness, but Dr. Grant’s scowl shifted to her, strangling any words that might have bubbled forth. “Um — I — Uh…”

“Dr. Grant. I would like to apologize for my behavior. I’m merely an innocent bystander, as we all are, in this person’s fraudulent activities.” Boy-Wonder, or David, dropped his conciliatory act and sneered at Kara. “She’s not Alex Danvers.”

Of all the petty… Kara’s shoulders slumped. She flipped her notebook shut and reached down to grab her backpack. Her secret was out. Or was it Alex’s? It didn’t matter. She eyed the door. It beckoned her with the promise of escape, but regret lanced through her at the thought of leaving. She peeked at Dr. Grant one last time. She didn’t want to leave, but Kara shook it off and stuffed the notebook in her bag.

“Gather your things and wait outside.” Dr. Grant’s gaze landed on her. Was it just her imagination or did the pinched edges of her mouth soften just a bit? “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Kara nodded. She looped her bag over her shoulder and plodded to the door. A keening wail from the hinges heralded her exit, but she managed to shut it with a soft snick.

Entering the empty hallway, Kara kicked the wall and growled. She could leave. She could walk out of the science building and leave Alex to deal with the problem. After all, it was hers, not Kara’s. She would never have to face Dr. Grant, or her paralyzing wrath, again. She took one step toward freedom, but paused. Disgusted, Kara growled a second time and flung her back against the wall. With a grunt, she crossed her arms and brooded, refusing to examine why she stayed.

From her position, Kara had a clear view through the small window in the door. Dr. Grant had one hand planted on David’s workstation and a finger of the other an inch from David’s nose, her face not far behind, as her mouth moved in rapid bursts. Kara couldn’t decipher the volley of words, but four students close to the action were wide-eyed and opened-mouthed. Angry, red splotches appeared on David’s cheeks when Dr. Grant pointed at his feet then whipped out a bottle disinfectant from nowhere. Kara grinned as he bent low, fumbled with his shoes, and struggled to slip them on. Served him right.

It didn’t last. Her grin slipped, knowing she was next. She was an adult but she trembled like kindergartner sent to timeout. She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. There was still time to leave, but an invisible tether held her there, refusing to let her go, even if better sense urged her to book it. She pushed those thoughts out of her mind and waited.

The sound of a latch disengaging and creaking hinges echoed in the corridor, followed by footsteps. Kara screwed her eyes shut even tighter and braced for the wood-splintering crash as Dr. Grant unleashed her fury, but she heard nothing over her heart’s rapid drumming — no slammed door, not even a whimpered croak from the hinges.

Confused, Kara peeled one eye open. Dr. Grant relaxed against the door, but her flared nostrils, wide-legged stance, and crossed arms contradicted her nonchalant posture. Wetting her lips, Kara opened her mouth to apologize, but Dr. Grant held up her hand and stopped her.

“Save it. I’m a microbiologist, not the University’s auditor, so I’ll let the impersonation slide but —” Dr. Grant pointed at Kara and pinned her with a stare. “If Alexandra is not in my office by 3pm Monday, she’ll be stricken from the class. I will deal with her then.”

Kara blinked and bobbed her head once. Twice. Then a third time, wondering if that was it. After watching her blast David, she had expected more than a stern warning, not only for her duplicity but her part in disrupting the lecture, but there was nothing. Realizing her head still bobbed up and down, and this was her first chance to actually speak to this woman, Kara took a calming breath, and pushed off the wall. Time to take a chance.

“She’ll be there. She, uh, hates being called Alexandra, by the way. I suggest you keep doing it. It’ll keep her on her toes. And, um, I’m sorry. About in there. My sister needed me to cover for her and she was all, ‘Kara, I need you to attend my classes’ and I got turned around by the Physics and Engineering building and that place is massive and then I was late. I couldn’t find a seat and —” Kara filled her lungs. “The only empty seat was by David or in the middle of the room, and I didn’t want to be seen so I, um, shouldn’t have disrupted your class. I’m sorry.”

Her rambling finished, Kara eyed Dr. Grant who massaged her forehead as if to ease a pesky ache, but her shoulders dropped, visibly losing their tension, and her hardened mask slipped. A smile tweaked the corners of Dr. Grant’s mouth. Kara rocked back on her heels, pleased she could elicit that tiny, but positive, reaction.

“You’re not a major of any of the sciences, then? You’re not going to show up and babble through one of my other classes?”

“Wow. No way. I spend most of my time over in the Journalism and Communications building. And some in the Fine Arts building.” 

“Well, I’m glad you’re not in any of my classes. For a variety of reasons.” Dr. Grant peeked at a thin, gold watch on her wrist and gestured behind her. “We have about 60 seconds before that lot rushes out. Could I persuade you to have a cup of coffee with me? The cafeteria is closeby. The coffee is watered-down and resembles swamp water, but it's hot and gives a good afternoon jolt. And, I’d love to see your notes and how you interpreted the information. It would help me tailor subsequent lectures to a variety of students.”

Kara’s cheeks burned as she remembered her notebook filled with drawings of Dr. Grant. The thought of her seeing them… Kara shuddered and wrapped her arms around her bag, protecting it as if Dr. Grant would reach out and snatch it from her grasp.

“Um, the coffee thing sounds great, but also disgusting. The cafeteria makes a mean pizza, though. As for my notes? I — I couldn’t. It’s too embarrassing.” And not because of the cruddy notes.

Dr. Grant cocked her head to the side and beamed. The teasing glint in her eyes twisted Kara’s stomach into knots. “Oh, well, that is a shame. I’d love to see what David saw.”

Kara growled low in her throat. That jerk must have told her about the drawings. Was Dr. Grant mad? Kara took her time as she studied Dr. Grant’s face. Little lines bracketed a smiling mouth, framing kissable lips, and her eyes flashed with interest even as they crinkled with mirth. She wasn’t upset. She was flirting. A feverish warmth spread from Kara’s chest to the tips of her ears at the realization. 

“Ugh. David is a rat.” Shifting her weight from foot to foot, Kara stuffed her hands into her pockets, still processing the fact this woman was flirting with her. “I feel sorry for you. Having him in your class all semester.”

“Then come commiserate with me over coffee. And pizza.”

Kara’s hands twitched with the urge to pump her fists, but she kept them firmly planted in her pockets, and said a silent prayer thanks to Alex for being lazy and refusing to end her summer vacation. First step, coffee. Next step, who knew?

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr: http://fourtseven.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr: http://fourtseven.tumblr.com/


End file.
